Fugue of Death
by MukLuk
Summary: Hot headed Ibby has known nothing but contempt from all races, but after a chance encounter in the commons and the events that conspire as a result of it, she is thrown headlong into a life she could never have anticipated. Rating subject to change
1. BROKEN GLASS

Chapter 1

**BROKEN GLASS**

"_Black milk of daybreak we drink it at nightfall_

_we drink it at noon in the morning we drink it at night_

_we drink it and drink it_

_we are digging a grave in the sky it is ample to lie there_

_A man in the house he plays with the serpents he writes..."_

_-_Paul Celan, '_Fugue of Death'_

**DISCLAIMER**

I do not own Dragon Age, any of its canon characters, any of its concepts, lore, or other such thing.

I do, however, own the concepts that I myself create.

To say that Orzammar was not welcoming of 'surfacers' would have been a grave understatement, but that did not stop the said 'surfacers' from entering the city to do business once Bhelen opened trade with them once more. The nobles may have made friendly with the outsiders so that Bhelen would have no reason to doubt that they would try to undermine any of his legislatures, but a great majority of the commoners glared at them with undisguised contempt. Even the Dwarven surface merchants who had crowded about the gates of Orzammar in hopes of a few stray customers received mistrustful glares and some pointed whispering about 'losing one's stone sense' and 'been branded a surfacer for awhile now' when moving their shops inside.

'_The pickings would probably be better in sodding Dust Town!_' thought an exasperated Elf as she watched her mother try to sell her works of glass. This particular Elf, looking terribly out of place in a Dwarven city, was spinning a dagger between two fingers, seated upon the less-than-clean ground of the commons beside her twin. One dwarf turned and spat in the direction of her mother's cart, turning away with a curled lip as if they were something unpleasant discovered on the bottom of his shoe. The fierier of the twins started to rise to her feet, only to have her bicep locked in the grip of her more sensible twin.

"Ignore him, Ibby. He's not worth the trouble it would get mother into." Ibby sighed and rationalized (a much dreaded process for such a short tempered minx), as she always did when reminded that her rash actions didn't just affect her. Her mother could lose the permit they had been granted upon entering the underground city. There wasn't much of a life for them on the surface, and she had gotten them into trouble enough times before. Reluctantly, she plopped back to the ground and took a sudden interest in cleaning her nails with the point of the blade. They sat for a few moments in silence, the only sound in the immediate being their mother's voice (_"Fine glass wares? Hand crafted glass wares! Modestly priced!"_).

"It's bullshit," Ibby finally snarled. Ilse sighed, shoulders slumping as if she'd been expecting it.

"It may be, Ibby, but we don't have any choice." How many times had they been over this?

"They look at us like we're dirt. They live in a sodding_ city_ made of dirt!"

"Well, beating them into bloody pulps probably won't help that any."

Ibby pretended she hadn't heard her. "I mean, what, does being a midget who's never seen a shred of sunlight suddenly make them _better_ than us? I could drop kick them across a sodding room if I wanted to!"

Ilse just sighed.

"We're honest, working people! They have no right to- oh, _nug humper!_"

The dagger she was holding clattered to the ground and Ilse pulled a rag from her pocket, reaching to staunch the flow of blood from her sister's carelessly inflicted cut. "And this is all that comes of these rants, dearest sister. You would do well to learn to cool your tongue." Ibby only let out another string of curses, holding the rag to her finger. "I don't even know why you play around with that dagger. It's not like you know how to actually use it."

Ibby glared at her level-headed counterpart. Ilse knew very well why she handled the blade; her mother had let out a few of her tales in her younger days as a wily rogue and given Ibby the dagger, saying it was all that remained of those days. It was hard to believe her mother had been a rogue, but the sleight of hand she had taught the twins didn't come from a simple passing interest in the finer machinations behind the art of an accomplished Rogue. Already, she had been putting these skills to use. Watching her sister and mother starve did not sit well with her, and she was not skittish in the methods she employed to remedy that. She had put her natural agility to good use, snatching food from vendors, especially those who were less than kind.

Ilse sighed ruefully, knowing where the sudden 'gifts' of food came from. "You know, Ibby, your talents would probably be put to better use as a…" But Ibby was no longer paying attention to her, gazing instead at the spectacle unfolding. "It is terribly rude to not pay attention to one's own sister, though I suppose it's understandable considering you have the attention span of a nug with a caffeine addiction." Ibby shushed her, and when Ilse took a breath to retort, she sighed. _'Damnable sister, taking offense if the wind blows her skirt wrong…'_

"Ilse, shut it for a second and _look_." She pointed at her mother's stand.

Ilse turned for a look and her jaw dropped.

A human woman, who was apparently rich enough to put any Diamond Quarter dwarf to shame, was at her mother's stand, admiring her wares. She picked up a frosted piece depicting a halla, marveling as she held it up against the light. "Amazing! How was it you said you crafted these? You… blew on them?" Her mother's next sentence was lost, but even behind her, Ilse could see that she was flushing clear up to the tips of her pointed ears.

The human was beautiful, but her wealth was not made apparent in baubles and other such pointless finery as most women seemed to prefer. Rather, her armor was of the finest make that Ibby had ever seen, even here among the dwarves. Ibby could look and assumed that her weapons, even while sheathed, were of similar quality.

On top of that, she had what appeared to be a body guard just behind her, an _Elven_ bodyguard. Ibby wasn't sure why she would need him, though; with the quality weapons she sported, it would seem a waste if she couldn't even put them to good use. Of course, she'd heard of sillier things. Maybe he was just for appearances. But no, upon closer investigation, she saw blade scars about his hands, and the way he carried himself, it all bespoke of something… _deadly_. He also had a foreign look about him, what with his tan skin and fair hair and strange leather armor. When she finally glanced at his eyes, she noticed he had been watching her examine him, wearing an amused grin. She narrowed her eyes at him only for his grin to wander higher.

Great. Some Elven pretty boy, probably thinking she was the sort of lass who'd tumble over easy. She rolled her eyes and she swore she saw his shoulder twitch as if he were suppressing laughter. Ibby considered flashing him a rude gesture, but Ilse elbowed her, already taking note of the exchange.

"He's trying to push your buttons. Don't indulge him," Ilse muttered. Ibby bit her tongue; it seemed it was necessary to do that a lot more these days.

At the moment, the woman was amusing herself by lifting the various glass works to the light, at the moment examining the largest of her mother's works, the one that she had labored on for days before finally being satisfied. It featured a tiny Elven girl gazing from a cluster of blossoms all bigger than she was. Ibby loved looking at it, imagining the girl's wide eyes, filled with curiosity and wonder.

And then the woman dropped it.

Without even thinking, Ibby grabbed her dagger, rising to her feet, suddenly burning with anger. This was the last time someone mistreated her mother, the last time anyone walked up to 'accidentally' break something and walk away laughing. Ilse was too slow to grab her before she started forward, but nonetheless, she found her progress impeded. Not by Ilse, but rather, by the 'pretty boy' Elf. One minute he had not been there, and the next he had, the hand that gripped her dagger held away from her body. "That would not be an advisable course of action, my fiery lass." His voice was thick with accent, though not one she recognized (of course, the only one she _could_ recognize was Orlesian). His careless use of endearment, as well as the word 'my', lit her short fuse once more. She was no hand with a dagger, but fancy enough with her footwork.

Swinging one foot behind his knees, she pushed him with her free hand, and he stumbled back, nearly falling. He did not, however, ease his grip on her dagger hand as she had hoped he would. Before he could regain his balance, she thrust her knee into his groin, but he twisted away. Not that it would have mattered; she had forgotten he wore a fine set of armor. With a snarl, she tried to yank her hand from his grasp, but his hand was iron. "So very feisty," he purred, seemingly not in the least perturbed that she had tried a number of ways to incapacitate him. "You're quite the hot blooded little minx, aren't you?" Twisting, she punched him in the jaw, to which he blinked but did not waver. "Temper, temper."

"Ibby!" Her mother had been whimpering over by her stand, unbeknownst to her daughter, while the noble woman simply watched attentively, broken sculpture forgotten. The way she watched unnerved Ibby, akin to a hangman sizing you up for the noose. The elf, however, was amused, his eyebrows shooting up the moment he heard her name.

"Ibby? Short for what, I wonder?"

She only glared, not punching him again only because it clearly upset her mother.

"Has the cat got your tongue, sweet Ibby?"

"I'm not your sweet anything, pretty boy. Let go of my leg before I decide to take a shot at your nose."

"Oh ho! It has a bark _and_ a bite! A prize, to be sure!"

She punched him the nose, hoping that it got her point across. He blinked a few times.

"_Ow._" He barely paused before going on. "So you think I'm pretty, do you? Well-"

"Zevran, let the poor girl go. You shouldn't assume her to be one of the maids at the castle; your nose probably won't survive the experience."

He grinned, and Ibby narrowed her eyes.

"Let go of my damned leg," she growled, under her breath.

"As you wish, my Queen."

"I'm not your anything-" she started to hiss again, wondering how a man could be so impossible in the span of a few short minutes, but he grinned.

"I wasn't referring to you."

She froze.

"It isn't wise to rush the Queen of Fereldan on such short whims, mind you. A good thing I can see that you aren't much of a hand with a dagger in the first place." He released her wrist, and the dagger clattered uselessly to the floor. Ibby stumbled back, eyes wide, mouth agape.

"I-I… I didn't… Oh, sodding pig scumming thunder humpers…"

Ilse heaved a sigh. "Now you've done it…"

Her mother flushed a darker of shade and couldn't seem to decide between bowing and apologizing, a series of stuttered "Your Majesty"s and "Forgive my daughter"s spluttering forth. The Queen, however, waved them off.

"Don't worry about it. I used to be just as bad about my own mother. You should've seen me at the Denerim fair!" She laughed then, and Ibby's mother gave a half-hearted giggle, unsure.

"I _am_ sorry for the sculpture, however. Here… how does five sovereigns sound?" The noble fished out a purse, reaching in, stopping to see all three of the women staring at her, mouth agape. It was more money than they had ever seen at one time.

"Um, your Majesty, that… that's hardly necessary," her mother sputtered, though she was clearly having a hard time refusing such a sum. "Truly, I should… I should be apologizing… my daughter… and, and…" But the queen shook her head, firm.

"I won't take no for an answer. Here." She placed the money on the wood of the stand, and Ibby's mother could only gape for a moment before slowly reaching to take the coin.

"Your majesty… you are too kind, truly. Take-take your pick from one of my works. It is yours, free of charge."

The queen blinked, opening her mouth to object, but thought better of it and smiled. "Very well. If only because it will make you feel better. And the fact that they truly are masterpieces."

"Your majesty is too kind," her mother murmured, refusing to meet her eyes. The Queen looked saddened by this for a moment, but plucked one of the smaller works from the table. It depicted a long haired woman with large antlers sprouting from her head and vines growing along her body.

"I think I'll take this one," she said with a smile. "And thank you very much."

Ibby's mother only bowed and the Queen looked as if she were suppressing a sigh. She turned her gaze to Ibby then, a smile on her face. "I'll be staying in the Diamond Quarter. Perhaps we could meet again. I could teach you how to properly handle a weapon."

Shock sank itself deeper into Ibby's system, and she was barely able to nod, her mother finally looking up from the floor to gape at the Queen. The elf named 'Zevran' had been forgotten in the rush of the moment, but quickly set her temper aflame one more with a lecherous grin.

"Yes. Perhaps get more... _acquainted._"

Ibby glared, biting back a sharp retort, but the Queen laughed. "Don't mind Zevran. He flirts with anything that has a pulse. I'll be staying at The Club and Staff, should you be interested." With that, the Queen gave the three of them a bow, Zevran taking up his place at her side once more, and they walked away, a dog at her heels that Ibby hadn't noticed from behind the stand.

Once they had disappeared from sight, Ibby could only look at Ilse, whose shocked expression was a mirror of her own.

"What. The. Hell."


	2. DAYBREAK

Chapter 2

**DAYBREAK**

"_he writes it and walks from the house the stars glitter he _

_ whistles his dogs up_

_he whistles his Jews out and orders a grave to be dug in_

_ the earth_

_he commands us strike up for the dance…"_

_-_Paul Celan, '_Fugue of Death'_

_

* * *

  
_

**DISCLAIMER**

I do not own Dragon Age, any of its canon characters, any of its concepts, lore, or other such thing.

I do, however, own the concepts/characters that I myself create.

* * *

**AUTHOR'S NOTES**

Argh, my chapters are much too short. Worry not, I intend to fix this once the plot begins to thicken a bit. It's bothering me far too much for me to leave it alone…

I probably should've noted in my first chapter that this is my first attempt at a fanfiction. All reviews and comments are appreciated but spare me not; flay me alive if I need it.

You guys are the best. Thanks for reading.

[It has just occurred to me that the guy who you get the password for Shale from had a daughter named Amalia. Totally unintentional. I hated the little brat. 'Butterfly', pfft.]

* * *

Daybreak did not come here in Orzammar.

At first, Ibby had not noticed it, but slowly she had found herself waiting for the first rays of sunlight to announce the coming of a new day. It seemed to her that time did not seem to move in Orzammar. It was truly the essence of stone, unchanging, an endless monotone. Ibby had once been pretty good at guessing the time, where ever she happened to be. This dwarven city had destroyed her perception of time, however. Years could have passed on the surface and she would not have noticed. She no longer knew when to sleep or when to wake. Orzammar had been fine enough at first, but slowly it had become a prison. The world outside was endless and expansive. This would was forever walled in, tiny, miniscule, _finite._

She lay looking up at the stone ceiling, taking her rest when it seemed all of the dwarves had retreated to their homes. Her mother lay a short distance away, snoring softly. She envied her mother's ability to sleep anywhere at anytime, almost on command.

"So are you going to do it?" Ibby jumped at the sound of Ilse's voice. Her twin lay on her side, watching her with obvious curiosity, and Ibby sighed.

"I dunno." She put her arms beneath her head, her bedroll lacking a pillow.

"What do you mean, you 'don't know'?" Ilse gaped as if her sister were mentally incapacitated.

"Exactly what I said. I _don't know_."

"Ibby," Ilse said, and Ibby sighed, recognizing the tone in her sister's voice. She braced herself for a lecture. "You are being offered tutelage in an art you show obvious love for but little skill. The woman who is offering you this opportunity is obviously experienced, well respected among all races, a member of the fabled Grey Wardens, and she's the _Queen of Fereldan._ Not only that, but her traveling companion is easy on the eyes."

Ibby scoffed. "I pray you're talking about her dog. Because I'd be afraid to catch the many diseases that elf no doubt has. Did you hear the Queen? 'You shouldn't assume her to be the maids at the castle'? Imagine how many maids the palace must have. Ugh."

Ilse grinned. "Plus, you'd probably break the poor dear's nose."

"I'd probably break the 'poor dear's' neck."

"I don't doubt it. But really, you should do it. This is a once in a lifetime opportunity! I'm amazed you weren't clinging to her leg as she walked away."

Ibby scowled. "I'm glad you're so excited."

Ilse frowned, clearly confused. "I'm surprised you _aren't_. What's to consider?"

Ibby sighed. "The way she looked at me. Like… like inspecting a horse or something. I have a feeling that she wants me for something more than to just train."

"Like what? She's married, and I doubt she's a closet lesbian."

Ibby rolled her eyes. "I'm not talking about sex, Ilse. She looks at me like I'm useful to her or something."

"Is it so hard to imagine? You're strong willed and not afraid of a fight. Maybe you'd be good as a body guard or something."

"Because every noble woman wants a sharp tongued elf who's likely to bloody any shem who looks at her wrong."

"Your self awareness is admirable."

"I'm _serious_. It makes me uneasy. I like knowing where I stand with people."

"She's the Queen. No one knows where they stand with her."

Ibby sighed.

"Look, just go and try it out. She seems honorable enough, so it's not likely she'll drag you off to a life of eternal servitude without at least warning you first."

Ibby closed her eyes. "I'll think about it."

Ilse rolled over, putting her back to her sister. "Just don't blow this off all over some look that _might_ have held deeper meaning."

Ibby only sighed again and began reciting the Paragons in alphabetical order, hoping it would ease her into the Fade. Perhaps there she could make some sense of it all.

_In her dreams, Ibby walked through darkness._

_At first, she thought she was simply walking through a void, a vast and empty plain, but then she realized she could feel stone beneath her feet. And the stone was unbearably cold, the kind that comes of stone that has never known the touch of the sun. _

_Ahead in the darkness, she heard singing. It was not singing as one might imagine, with a human voice and clear syllables, but rather like a whale, low humming that thrummed through her bones and poignant high notes. She had never heard whale's song before, though, and so had nothing to compare this to._

_The singing stopped abruptly and the silence that filled the gap left by its absence was heartbreaking. Ibby pressed on, desperate to find the song again, desperate to find the creature that made such wondrous music. _

_A tongue of flame leapt through the air and a lantern hanging atop the tunnel that she was walking through was lit. A great and scaled beast sat before her, but she could not fully take it in, for its glowing eyes enraptured her. _

"_**They come. To make me theirs. They seek a mother once more and I am too weak to deny them."**_

_The voice boomed loud, but within her rather than in the air about her. Her words fled and her eyes still lay captive to the beasts' own._

"_**Oh, little Fade spirit. I would happily travel beyond the veil if I thought it would end my troubles."**_

_In the corner of her eye, Ibby saw the beast's great gaping maw, lined with hundreds of teeth._

"_**Wouldn't you?"**_

"Ibby? Ibby!"

Ibby gasped, drawing in a lungful of air she had not been able to take before, and opened her eyes to find her sister sitting over her, forehead creased with worry. Ibby smiled weakly. "Just a bad dream, Ilse. Nothing to freak out about."

The creases deepened. "You weren't breathing, Ibby, and you were getting cold. I thought you were dead."

Ibby noticed that her eyes were rimmed with red and took her sister's hand.

"Come on, sis, I just got offered training by the fabled Grey Warden Warrior Queen of Fereldan. You think I would just give up and die?"

Ilse gave a tiny smile.

"What did you dream about?"

Ibby stopped for a moment, suddenly getting the feeling that she shouldn't speak of it. "I… don't remember," she lied, but her sister didn't seem too worried about it.

"Well, you're alright now?"

Ibby smiled with what she hoped was reassurance. "A-OK."

Ibby glanced over and was startled to find the Commons already bustling. "Have I really been out _that _long?"

Ilse's lips thinned to a grim line and she nodded. "We thought at first you were just sleeping in, so we left you alone. But then everyone started coming by and you didn't even twitch, when you're practically mother's watch dog… And you were so pale…" She bowed her head.

" I really thought you were dead, Ibby."

Ibby gripped her sister's hand. "Well, I'm not, so don't worry about it. Whatever it was, it's over now." Ilse took a deep breath and composed herself, nodding resolutely.

"You're right. Anyways, get ready to go train with the Warrior Queen."

With a sigh, she rose from her bedroll, stretching. "Fine, fine, I'll go. I just hope she has spare daggers." She sighed, wishing she had woken up earlier; now she would be sharing the public bathhouse with dwarves who would probably attempt to drown her while she was rinsing her hair. "I'm off for a wash. I'll probably head straight to the Diamond Quarter after that, so I guess… see you later?" Ilse nodded, smiling, but as Ibby turned to walk away, Ilse gripped her wrist.

"I love you, sister. Take care of yourself."

Ibby was taken aback. It wasn't as if they never expressed love in their small family, but it normally wasn't so fierce… or _sudden_. "Of… of course, Ilse. I love you, too." Ilse looked into her eyes before the smile reappeared and she released her sister with a nod. Her sibling blinked and walked away, towels and spare clothes in hand, along with some soap.

She reached the bathhouse, pulling a copper and handing it to the attendant inside along with her clothes, the bit assuring her that the clothes would still be there when she finished. The steamy, cavernous room was stifling and she quickly lowered herself into the warm waters to make the humidity a bit more bearable. A few dwarves turned pointedly away from her, but she ignored her, scrubbing quickly. Looking on the ashy patches of her skin, she was reminded of the scaled creature she had seen in her dreams.

'_It was probably nothing,'_ she told herself sternly. '_It won't do you any good to dwell upon it.' _

But still she had to wonder on the cryptic phrases it spoke.

"_They come. To make me theirs. They seek a mother once more and I am too weak to deny them."_

A mother? Why would anything seek out something so large and terrifying and… scaly to be a mother? How could it be too weak to deny them?

"_Oh, little Fade spirit. I would happily travel beyond the veil if I thought it would end my troubles."_

_That_ made her wonder. Was it truly a dream if that… _thing_ had recognized her as a spirit of the Fade? Had she been traveling in her dreams, cloaked not in flesh but in the shroud of the Fade?

No. It was impossible. There was no precedent of such, not that she knew of, not beyond mages. And she was no mage; she would have shown signs well before now. No, this was simply a strange dream in which her mind created a thing that would have spouted cryptic thoughts because of what was hidden within her mind. It happened all the time. It was all that had happened this time.

How silly that she could not convince herself of it.

"Ibby!" The voice cut through her brooding and she turned, half expecting to see her mother or sister. Instead, to her utmost shock, the Queen of Fereldan was striding through the bathwater towards her. Ibby was glad that the water was covered by bubbles so the encounter could not be made any more awkward than it already promised to be.

"My Queen," Ibby said, looking down, flushing.

"Oh, that's quite enough," the Queen said, rolling her eyes. "Amalia will do, thanks. I get enough 'my queen's back at the palace."

Ibby was shocked, to say the least. "Forgive me, my-… _Amalia_."

Amalia grinned. "Much better. Anyways, I came to wash myself of the filth of journeying and saw you. I figured you'd be better conversation than the Dwarven ladies."

"I'm… honored. But why not just take a bath in the inn? Surely you had enough money to purchase a bath in your quarters."

Amalia shrugged, grin remaining. "I dunno. I just… sometimes I just like to be… common."

Ibby blinked. "You must be joking."

"Well, all I've ever known is being a noble, and sometimes I just wish people would shut the hell up and say what they _mean_. I find that's a lot easier when I give up all of the royal sensibilities."

Briefly, the elf wondered why this woman, who she had just recently met, would be telling her all of this. _'It must be to put me at ease. She wants me to do something.'_ She tried to dismiss this thought, thinking of what Ilse had said the previous night, but it persisted.

"Well, it's… refreshing," Ibby tried.

"I'm glad you think so," Amalia remarked with a grin. "So, have you considered my offer?"

'_Bingo.'_ This seemed like confirmation, but she had to wonder… why would the Queen of Fereldan waste time trying to train her? "I have. I… accept, if my… _you_ would have me."

Amalia clasped her on the shoulder, a friendly gesture that startled Ibby. "Great! Sounds like fun, don't you think?"

The commoner looked into the Queen's eyes and suddenly abandoned any preconceptions she'd had about her. _'This woman is different. I know it.'_ She grinned back and clasped the Queen's shoulder in return, a gesture that she seemed to appreciate greatly. "I could think of nothing better."


	3. ORIGINS

Chapter 3

**ORIGINS**

"_As I gird on for fighting_

_My sword upon my thigh,_

_I think on old ill fortunes_

_Of better men than I."_

-A. E. Housman

* * *

**DISCLAIMER**

I do not own Dragon Age, any of its canon characters, any of its concepts, lore, or other such thing.

I do, however, own the concepts/characters that I myself create.

* * *

**AUTHOR'S NOTES**

I think this is a bit more adequate in length, though I'm still not completely happy with it. I anticipate having chapters getting longer as we go along the story. Hopefully, anyways.

And a big thanks to everyone for reading! You guys are the best.

All reviews and comments are welcomed, encouraged, appreciated, and all the other good words you can think of.

* * *

"_Ow_!"

Ibby yelped as the Queen landed another blow on her knuckles, and not for the first time, she dropped the wooden practice sword the queen had lent her.

"Pick up your sword. You must be able to handle even broken bones in a battle. Do you think an enemy will halt because you have dropped your sword?" The Queen looked pleased, however. That last bout had been the best so far; the girl was a fast learner and was progressively getting better.

Ibby picked it up and resumed her stance, bouncing on the balls of her feet to maintain her natural rhythm. The Queen leapt forward, striking quick and without warning. Ibby blocked it, but the impact jarred her arms. She ignored it, pushing the Queen back, lifting her sword above her head for a two handed blow. The Queen easily blocked it, of course, her sword effortlessly swinging up to halt the swing, but her eyes widened. The strength behind the blow was not common of an elf, especially not an elf without any combat experience. She watched soundlessly as the 'blade' of her practice sword cracked neatly at the hilt and clattered to the floor.

Ibby looked down, every bit as shocked as Amalia seemed to be. "Um… I'm… sorry." Amalia laughed suddenly.

"'Sorry'? That was great! I mean… Wow! Look at this!" Amalia picked up the blade, laughing. "I think that's enough for today. Maker's breath…" With another chuckle, she tossed the wooden blade over her shoulder. "Let's go back to the Club and Staff. I'll order some food up to my room and we can talk."

Ibby winced. "Will that elf be there? Zevran?"

Amalia glanced over her shoulder at the girl, clearly wondering if she had taken a fancy to him. Upon seeing her face, though, she laughed. The girl looked as if she had tasted something sour. "He might be, though I doubt it. He finds things to amuse him rather easily. Mostly, he's just here for appearances so the people back at court won't be appalled as the Queen rides off to Orzammar without a bodyguard." She rolled her eyes. "As if I'm some delicate little flower. Honestly." She scoffed and Ibby smiled. The more she learned about the queen, the more she learned how... _not_ noble she was. She had been born and bred in the world of politics but had developed a distaste for it. She didn't judge people based upon their birth like most nobles would, and a position in court wasn't everything to her. She was surprised to find that she had a healthy respect for this woman.

Of course, whatever would make her bring some Casanova pretty boy elf who thought that every woman would bow to his whims was beyond her.

They left the little shack they had borrowed as a training room, Ibby rubbing her shoulder. Despite the various pains she was becoming aware of, she felt better than she had in weeks. Knowing a bit more about how to wield a weapon made her feel… assured. She wouldn't last long in the Provings or anything similar, but she thought she could kick the collective asses of some who decided to try and spit on her family, figuratively or otherwise.

In the Diamond Quarter, she had expected the nobles to turn their noses up, to sniff and snort and huff their contempt until she was ready to toss them into the nearest lava flow. But they didn't do much more than nod every once in awhile. She looked around, expecting to see at least one noble giving her a dirty eye, but… nothing. And then she remembered. She was walking next to the Queen of Fereldan. They probably thought that she was traveling with her and therefore worthy to breathe their air. She supposed it should have made her feel better, to be spared from the bitter glares of the dwarves, but it made her sour that she couldn't win their approval on her own.

'_Politics…'_ she scoffed inwardly, trudging behind the queen. '_Complete and utter bollocks.'_

To her surprise, Amalia patted her shoulder. "Don't take it personally. They were raised with these viewpoints and to abandon them would be unthinkable. Bhelen's working towards more tolerance, but it's a slow process changing the principles of dwarves who believe that they were born of stone, the essence of unchanging."

Ibby gave a wry smile. "It just get's tiring after awhile, milady."

"Of that I have no doubt," Amalia said. "And here's our stop! The Club and Staff. Rather nice place to stay. Let's see about that food."

The inn was beautifully decorated. Statuettes of paragons decorated tables and wonderful arrangements of flowers perfumed the air. Fine silk tapestries hung from ceiling to floor, depicting various scenes throughout Dwarven history. One in particular caught her eye; a human woman kneeling and offering a crown up to a red headed dwarf. Dwarven art wasn't very detailed, but it was easy enough to tell that it was Amalia giving Caridin's Crown to King Bhelen. Even _she_ had heard that story.

"My Lady," the proprietor spoke, curtsying low. "Is there anything you needed?"

"A meal for two, if you please, and some washcloths as well."

"Is there any beverage my lady prefers?"

Amalia glanced at Ibby, who shrugged.

"House Garal's Vintage, please." Amalia grinned at Ibby then. "Got a taste for spirits."

"A fine choice." The proprietor curtsied once more and walked away.

"Come on." Amalia gestured. "They'll bring it up."

Ibby followed after her, nearly tripping over her own feet as she gawked at the various fineries surrounding her. It was certainly a much nicer place than she could ever hope to stay in. Amalia's room was at the end of the hall, and was covered with the same splendor as the rest of the inn. The bed was covered in fine silks, every available surface decorated with some sort of art, whether it be sculptures or vases or paintings. Ibby saw the sculpture her mother had given Amalia sitting on one of the bedside tables.

"Looks like Zevran isn't here after all." Amalia remarked, and laughed as Ibby heaved a sigh of relief. "Well, at least you can eat dinner in peace, yes?" The Queen flopped down on the bed with a great breath of air, clearly pleased to sink into the finery of a feather mattress. Ibby deigned to sit in a chair, facing the Queen who was tugging off her boots. "So, tell me Ibby…" The Queen flopped back to the pillows, boots successfully removed, and eyed her newest elven companion. "How is it that you came to stay in Orzammar?"

Ibby shrugged, clearly reluctant. "Well, um… We had been at the gates for a long time. And then Bhelen comes out with permits for all of us merchants and tells we can set up in the commons. So… we did."

Amalia waited, seeing if the girl was going to expand on it. Sure enough, she sighed.

"Sorry, that was a cheap answer. I owe you more. Well, um, I guess I'll start out from what I know."

She took a deep breath.

"While I'm not sure whether or not she told us the truth, I remember all of her stories. She was born in a small fishing village. Her mother died of a disease that had tainted the fish and her father sold them into a prostitution ring in Denerim. Her sister was resigned to the life, but she escaped and lived on the streets. She learned the skills of a rogue to survive; life as a beggar was hard enough, but being an impoverished elf, she could only rely on her skills. Somewhere along the line, she had started whittling little wooden figures and selling them in the alienage. By this point, Ilse and I had been born. She, uh, omits that part of the tale, so no, I don't know who my father was.

"Anyways, a human merchant took her in; he was an artist himself, and had taken an interest in her works. She earned him a fair bit of money and then took to glass blowing and sculpting. They were getting more and more attention until they had their own shop in the market district. After an Antivan noble returned to his estate with several pieces of her work, requests came from other nobles, requesting their presence in court. They went to stay with one of the lords for a time, and Mother was wealthy enough that she planned to stay in Antiva and raise us there. The merchant had plans to open his own shop and continue their partnership. However, the nobles they were staying with had been targeted by some gang of assassins.

"They were killed, as was Mother's fellow merchant. She took what money she could grab and fled back to Denerim, afraid that they would follow after her. They had already sold the shop, but her crafts remained. She found herself homeless once more and sold what she could. After an incident with a noble trying to… take his liberties with the elven women, she fled Denerim as well, guards hot on her heels for taking her revenge."

"Do you remember none of this?" Amalia interrupted, enraptured in the tale.

"I… remember some of it. I remember the nobleman hitting Mother, and she slit his throat. I remember running out of Denerim, Mother trying to act like it was a game. I remember running through the forest, and some small towns…" Ibby shook her head. "But it's all foggy. I was only five or six during all of this. Afterwards, we just went from small town to small town, selling our wares. We couldn't settle for very long, though. They… didn't appreciate elves." Ibby winced, remembering the beatings she and Ilse had suffered at the hands of human children and her mother's anger afterwards. But they could not do anything; telling a human to keep their children away would result in more trouble than they were willing to stir up. So they left.

"Eventually, we came here. It was… pretty much the only place left. The dwarves, they may not like us, but it's not because of our ears. They despise the surface dwarves just as much. It doesn't help that we're merchants, either, but either way… It makes more sense, that they don't just discriminate against us because we're elves."

Amalia sighed and nodded. "It's not fair, any of it. But Alistair and I, we're working on that. We're trying to give the elves the same rights and freedoms as humans. It's just some nobles…" She sighed again and shrugged. "It's almost a matter of principle for them. But thank you for trusting me with that."

"Thanks for listening to my ridiculous amount of whining." Ibby winced, realizing just how much she'd dumped on the Queen. "I normally don't go on so much." But Amalia waved a hand, as if dispelling smoke.

"Don't worry about it. You should hear me when I get into my story telling moods. Can't shut me up for all of the love and money in Fereldan."

Ibby had to laugh at that. "Not as if you don't already have plenty." Amalia laughed along, until a knock at the door prompted Ibby to rise. It only made sense for her to get the food, but the Queen looked surprised. She opened the door to see a Dwarven servant with her eyes averted, offering a tray bearing two heaping plates of food. "Thanks." Ibby said, hefting it up, surprised at how heavy it was. She sat it down on one of the small tables in the room and returned to retrieve the bucket of hot water with the washcloths. Her knuckles smarted as she dragged the thing in, wondering who thought it would be a good idea to make everything out of sodding _stone_.

"Yummy," Amalia said, picking up one of the plates and returning to the bed.

It had been a long time since Ibby had more than meager meals, and she fell upon the plate, almost afraid it would disappear if she waited too long. "Maker's breath," she gasped after taking a bite of finely roasted nug. "It's… good!" Amalia laughed, seeing Ibby abandon any sense of etiquette as she devoured the meal. The ease the elf had adopted around her warmed her heart; she was glad she could be trusted not just as a Queen, but as a good human being as well.

"Well, I see our companion from yesterday took you up on your offer, Amalia."

Ibby froze, a speared chunk of vegetables halfway between the plate and her mouth, and then took the bite quickly before sparing him a glare over her shoulder.

"Not speaking to me? Ah, well." He shrugged with an easy grin, crossing the threshold and seating himself in a chair, mercifully far enough away that Ibby wouldn't have to deal with his close proximity while eating.

"I couldn't help overhearing your enrapturing story from earlier. You say your mother traveled to Antiva?"

She nearly stabbed him with her fork. She had hardly trusted Amalia with her story and some elf who she barely knew and trusted even less now knew one of the most personal aspects of her life? She nodded stiffly instead, though, hoping that there was some hidden redeeming quality that she had yet to see. There had to be _some_ reason why the Queen would trust him with her life.

"And the nobles were attacked by 'assassins'?"

"Why are you even asking? You already know," she hissed through her clenched teeth.

"Well, my fiery friend, it is because I myself hail from Antiva, as well as from a group of assassins."

_That_ stopped Ibby. She had always wanted to know about the place where she was nearly raised and fought back the urge to ask him about it. She continued after a moment's hesitation, unsure of where this was going. "And?"

"Ah, it is but a matter of curiosity for me. Did she ever mention the Antivan Crows?"

Ibby shook her head; the name was new to her.

"It is likely that the attack that claimed the life of your mother's merchant friend was by the Crows. I wouldn't hesitate to guess that the merchant and your mother were both targets. She was lucky to get away. The Crows hardly ever lose a mark." He flashed a grin at Amalia as if sharing in some private joke and Ibby put two and two together.

"I assume you know this from experience?" Her eyes were narrowed now.

Zevran grinned and shrugged, obviously not trying to hide it. "Well, I myself only have had one mark… 'escape'."

Ibby snorted. "I'm sure there were plenty of technicalities in there."

"Of course. One cannot expect perfect luck on all such expeditions."

Ibby '_hmph'_ed and poured herself some of the vintage, sipping it gingerly. It was smooth as it went down, though, a testament to its quality. And, Ibby noted, price. She felt bad for even sipping it after seeing just how much it was, but Amalia was obviously enjoying her newfound friend's gradual easing in her company.

Zevran _tsk_ed expectantly, and Ibby spared him a glare to find his hand in the air, waiting for her to toss the bottle. She considered getting up and pouring it on his head. With a growl, she decided against it and tossed it to him. He waited for a moment. "Um, I do need a _glass_…" He laughed as she threw a glass at him a good deal harder than she had the bottle, catching it easily.

"You two are going to make me choke. I'm over here trying to enjoy my dinner whilst you two make it so that I can't look up without finding something else to try and not laugh at…"

Ibby grinned, brandishing her mother's dagger with a newfound confidence. "If I can get him a little bit closer, I'm sure it'll become much more amusing."

Zevran returned the grin, wiggling his eyebrows. "Of that I have no doubt."

Ibby rolled her eyes but finally allowed herself a grin, trying to push away her preconceived notions as she had with Amalia. It wasn't as easy, though; he had already said he was an assassin, had made a number of advances on her within the first few moments of meeting her, and certainly didn't seem quite so honorable as the queen. And the fact that he wasn't currently promised to anyone made him that much more of a wild card; she could normally tell when someone had a serious interest in her. With him, everything was either an innuendo or a joke, she could tell already.

'_He'll be hard to read,'_ she mused to herself. _'Assuming that he even stays long enough to read him.'_

She was surprised at the sadness that came with the thought of Amalia leaving. She hadn't realized just how lonely this life was; her friends were always few and far between, and to make one so quickly and easily was a gift from the Maker, surely. To lose it so quickly was a cruel blow.

"Dearest, a frown is so unbecoming upon such a lovely face."

The Antivan's voice pulling her from her thoughts, Ibby looked up, realizing she had been lost in her thoughts and smiled when she found Amalia looked concerned. "Sorry. Just, eh, thinking." She took a final bite off of her plate and a long swig from her cup before rising and dusting her pants off. "I wish I knew a way to repay you for all of this. Thank you so much." Amalia's smile was warm. "Please, it was my pleasure."

"I should get back to mother, though. She'll begin to wonder where I am, and I suspect the commons are quiet enough by now."

"Perhaps Zevran should walk you back," Amalia suggested with a grin. Ibby glared, the '_don't push his luck'_ message clear. She glanced at Zevran, expecting some sexual comment, but instead his head was tilted, eyes narrowed in concentration, one hand edging to a dagger on his thigh. Amalia looked at the assassin, confused. "Zevran, what-"

"Your majesty! Lady Amalia!" A sudden banging at the door startled them both, but Zevran had already crossed the room, his uncanny ability to move at speeds faster than she could follow proving useful. His dagger was in hand now, and he cracked the door.

"I must speak to the Queen, the Grey Warden, the-the…" A dirtied dwarf stood at the door, eyes wide with fear, panting. Ibby froze. Something was wrong. _Very _wrong.

Amalia pulled Zevran back, opening the door. "Take a deep breath, my good man, and then tell me." The dwarf took a breath as he was bade and then rushed into the story.

"Darkspawn! One of the roving bands that we had hoped to squash in the Deep Roads! They've breached our lines of defense! They're pouring into the merchants sector! Several are already dead or taken! Please, come quickly!"


	4. DRAGON'S BLOOD

Chapter 4

**DRAGON'S BLOOD**

"_What evil luck soever_

_For me remains in store,_

_'Tis sure much finer fellows_

_Have fared much worse before."_

-A. E. Housman

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**DISCLAIMER**

I do not own Dragon Age, any of its canon characters, any of its concepts, lore, or other such thing.

I do, however, own the concepts/characters that I myself create.

* * *

**AUTHOR'S NOTES**

Finally, something that is of a somewhat proper length! Though, truly, I don't think I would be happy unless I hit around 10,000. Silly me.

I don't particularly like this chapter myself, but I am glad to be getting to the actual story.

Perhaps writing while half asleep contributes to my dislike of the chapter, I dunno.

Either way, reviews/comments are much appreciated and thanks so much for reading! As I am sure to say a thousand times over, you guys are the best.

Much love~!

* * *

"Darkspawn? In the commons?" Amalia looked at him, horror plain on her face at the thought of those people, practically defenseless, left to the darkspawn. She whirled around, leaping for her true battle armor. Zevran apparently always kept his armor on, only taking a moment to clip his full arsenal about him. Ibby caught glimpses of throwing knives, vials filled with odd liquids, and long, wicked daggers. "Ibby, stay here. If the fight comes this far-" Amalia began.

"If you think I'm staying here, you're sadly mistaken. My mom and sister are out there." Amalia glanced up and found that Ibby had taken her discarded set of armor and put it on. Her voice had shook, but her eyes were steel. She knew that she could not keep the girl away from this fight.

"Fine," she said. "But you stay out of the main horde. Let Zevran and I take care of the bulk of them and you catch the stragglers." She tossed the girl a sword, and Ibby felt a bit better with a fine weapon in her hand. The practice weapons had been weighted so that it would provide a more realistic experience; she was intensely grateful for that now. She still couldn't wield it worth a sod, certainly not compared to Amalia or Zevran, but she was sure she could hold her own against those walking meat shields known as darkspawn.

Well, mostly sure.

Amalia still looked worried but didn't have time to argue. She and Zevran rushed out of the room, Ibby close at their heels. She had only heard stories of darkspawn, even living close to the Deep Roads. Were they truly as horrible as everyone described? So terrifying that many warriors hadn't the stomach to face them?

A stench rolled from behind the closed door to the commons. Ibby ran faster; her mother and sister could be down there, fighting for their lives. They could already be dead. She gripped the hilt of her sword until the pommel nearly broke skin, not even realizing that she had pulled it from its sheath. Amalia and Zevran had followed suit.

The dwarves waiting at the door saw Amalia rushing forward, weapons brandished, and threw themselves against it, the opening just wide enough to permit them access. With a bloodcurdling battle cry, Amalia leaped into the fray, knocking her enemies aside with ease. Zevran was less exuberant in his battle manner, more like a wildcat, the daggers becoming claws unsheathed. Darkspawn fell left and right before them, but Ibby stopped to look and see if she could spot her sister or mother. She saw the ruins of her mother's sculptures, the stand leaning haphazardly, but saw no sign of her family.

A darkspawn startled her from her thoughts, rushing her with a shrill cry, and she nearly dropped her sword after catching a whiff of the thing. It wasn't horrible as much as it was unexpected, and she beheaded the thing before it had a chance to lift the axe it carried. Its blood sprayed over her in a warm fountain and she remembered at the last moment to close her mouth to the taint. She was surprised at how easy it was; she had hardly had any training and surely she did not possess enough strength to sever flesh and bone alike from its kin. Looking at the sword, she saw it glowing with several enchantments and smiled. Amalia wouldn't have let her go out with just any sword. She made a note to thank the woman a thousand times when she made it out of this. _If_ she made it out of this.

She regained herself once more, but no darkspawn came. She allowed her eyes to scan the heaving sea of battle in search of her family. Nothing. She heard her teeth creaking and realized she'd been clenching her jaw. She ran a straggling darkspawn through, pleased as, again, the sword sliced through the monster like butter. Her eyes found Amalia, roaring curses and swinging her sword in great arcs, cutting her way through the horde in hardly any time at all. Zevran was a bit harder to spot; he had a dagger in each hand, going for the more effective kills rather than Amalia's 'swing so hard it has no chance of surviving' approach. He slit throats in passing, buried his daggers in spinal cord, delivering swift and unsportsmanlike kicks and then beheading his targets as they stumbled. Both of them were spectacles to behold, while she was lucky to make a kill look intentional. Not that anyone was really paying attention to her clumsy swordsmanship.

Screams pierced the air. She saw Dwarven women running for safety, some with children in hand. She saw a few humans, some cowering in the shadows, some swinging makeshift weapons. But one scream stood out from the turmoil of the battlefield…

_Ibby had been tossing marbles with Ilse, watching them clack together, pretending to be gamblers hunched over a game they had bet good money on. Ibby had been hit in the back with something, and by the loud cackles behind her, they had thrown it. The human children. It was no particular surprise, really, but Ibby still stood, fists clenched, ready to skin them alive. Ilse wasn't paying the human children any attention; rather, her eyes, brimming with tears, were focused upon something at Ibby's feet. She looked down to find Ilse's recently adopted stray cat, gutted, teeth bared in a soundless snarl. The scream that came from Ilse's mouth had haunted more than the image of the disemboweled cat ever could; it was the only time she had ever heard her sister scream._

She looked at her feet, thrown off kilter when there was no cat lying there. Why, then, would her sister scream?

She turned to see her sister and mother being dragged away by Hurlocks, and with a cry, threw off the memory and rushed forward. She swung her sword wildly, killing most any darkspawn that came within range of her frantic strikes. Darkspawn weapons slashed at her as she ran past through the path she was steadily carving. She screamed in fury, stabbing and swinging, the gashes they scored stinging. She could only pray they hadn't poisoned their weapons; if they had, she was finished. Finally, she could see the entrance of the Deep Roads with no darkspawn to obstruct her view.

But her sister and mother were already being swallowed in the darkness further within. Ibby couldn't manage a scream, only a strangled cry, and raced after them. A shriek stepped in front of her and she only held her sword out as she ran past, hearing the ear piercing scream begin and then stop with a sharp, choking sound. Her lungs burned, every muscle fueled on fear, righteous fury, _desperation_.

She could just hear their screams, pushing harder and harder.

She had heard the stories of what happened to women lost in the Deep Roads. She would not let that happen to her mother, to her sister; she swore it to herself in that instant. She would see every darkspawn in the Deep Roads dead before her mother and sister were ever forced to become one of… those _things_.

Or she would die trying.

But already, she could hear Ilse's screams drawing further and further away, could imagine her mother suffering silently while Ilse thrashed beside her. She wanted to call out to her sister, wanted to tell her to keep fighting, to not give up. She didn't have the opportunity. Her ears were temporarily deafened by a screech from the darkness above. The Shriek dropped upon her, teeth bared, blades glinting even in the darkness. She fell to the ground, sword skittering away. The shriek called out triumphantly to his brothers ahead in the cave; he had a prize of his own. He reared back, his head slamming into hers. Her vision went black. She tasted blood, felt a sudden, throbbing pain. Then she felt nothing. Only cold.

_The great scaled beast was no longer as proud. Her scales were covered in a film of blood, eyes clouded with pain, and the great gaping maw of white teeth was dripping blood and bits of flesh. _

"_**So… here we are again, little Fade Spirit. I am to become their mother after all."**_

_There was bitter regret in her words. Ibby wanted to weep; once there had been a proud and beautiful creature, and now here she lay, cruelly fettered._

"_**There is only one hope. Tell me, Fade Spirit… do you wander here to me in death or in dreams?"**_

_Ibby looked up at her, shocked. It was not just a dream world, just a vision of her wild imagining._

"_I am not dead. At least… I don't think so. A darkspawn hit me and I… passed out. They were taking my family."_

"_**So you ran after them? Brave of you. Perhaps you will do after all. What would you do to avoid becoming the consort of these darkspawn?"**_

"_Anything. So long as my family is untainted as well."_

"_**I can give you power, but at a cost. My life would be your life, my blood your blood. The Chantry that these humans so readily give faith to, they might recognize the power, call for your death."**_

"_Why?"_

"_**Because you would hold the power of an Old God."**_

_And finally Ibby recognized the beast, even through the haze of dreams. A great dragon sat before her._

"_**We dragons possess much power, power that mages could only dream of. One of these powers is the power of blood."**_

"_Blood magic."_

"_**Yes."**_

"_What will happen to you?"_

"_**I will become as immune to the taint of Darkspawn as you are; no longer will their touch corrupt me. I will be healed, strong once more. But I will only live as long as you live. Depending upon how well you stand up to this exchange, my lifespan may be dramatically shortened."**_

_The word 'confused' at this point was an obscene understatement._

"_**You will gain my powers should I choose to grant them to you, however, and should you be able to withstand this… exchange, then your lifespan may be dramatically lengthened. Do you agree?"**_

_Ibby could tell that there were hundreds of ways that this might go wrong. But if there was any chance of saving her mother and sister from becoming brood mothers…_

"_I agree, dragon. Tell me what must be done."_

_The dragon looked pleased, as pleased as one could without the proper muscles for smiling while covered in blood._

"_**They bring you to me; you will know when you arrive."**_

_Ibby blinked, and reached extended her arm to stroke the dragon's snout._

"_Thank you."_

"_**What are you called?"**_

"_I am called Ibby."_

"_**No surnames? No lengthy anecdotes associated with it?"**_

"_No. Just… Ibby."_

_The dragon growled deep within her throat, a sound much like chuckling._

"_**Very good."**_

"_May I ask your name, great dragon?"_

"_**If it will rid you of that useless flattery, certainly."**_

_Ibby smiled._

"_**I have been called many names in my many years. You, however, may simply call me Nephthys."**_

_A commotion behind her made Ibby turn to see Hurlocks entering the cave. Behind them a Shriek loped, a body slung across its shoulder. Ibby recognized Ilse, eyes wide, mouth open in soundless screams; her voice was gone. The Hurlock that held her captive was dragging her by her hair, and Ibby could see a few bloody bald patches decorating her scalp. Her mother was unconscious; the Hurlock had looped an arm about her waist, leaving her legs dangling behind them, and an erratic trail followed them in the dust. She took a closer look at the third body, sure it must be her unconscious shell. Her head lolled back for a moment, eyelids cracking open to give her a glimpse of her eyes rolled back in her head. _

With a jolt, she felt as if she'd been thrown into a pool of ice cold water, the weight of a true form returning to her. She was aware of many pains about her body, the most domineering being the ache just between her eyes; from where the Shriek had hit her, no doubt. Ibby groaned aloud and the Shriek's wild chittering was interrupted as he spared her a glance. Obviously, it didn't think that she currently warranted any more attention than that and returned to its ceaseless prattling. She lifted her head to look and see if there truly was a dragon. Indeed, there was, though it was much more magnificent without the languor of the fade. Even beneath the blood, Ibby could see the beauty of her amethyst scales and the grace in her venerated serpentine form. The dragon's eyes met her own, glowing so brightly that Ibby was sure they would be imprinted in her retina even after she turned her gaze away.

The Hurlocks in front of her captor Shriek had thrown their elven quarries to the Dragon's feet and waited, looking expectantly at her. 'Nephthys' seemed to have no desire to accept their gifts. She swiped at them with one of her fore talons, but they did not falter. The look in their eyes disturbed Ibby. They looked… reverent. Like they were looking upon their greatest love, the object of all of their fantasies and desires… It was strange to see on the face of what was considered, no, _known _to be a mindless killing beast.

The Hurlock advanced, palms outstretched as if he intended to embrace the great beast. She roared, flames erupting forth; the cold air in the cave suddenly became so hot that Ibby wondered if her eyebrows would come out of this unscathed. A much more logical thought probably would have been wondering if she herself would come out unscathed, but alas, Ibby was not prone to logic, nor overly fond of it.

The Hurlock advance upon Nephthys and the dragon backed away, still snarling her rage, tongues of flame escaping her maw and even nostrils every few moments.

"_**Ibby…"**_

Ibby was startled, almost forgetting that the dragon could speak after her bestial display. She waited.

"_**Come to me."**_

She wondered for a moment just how to accomplish that; Shrieks weren't exactly easy to weasel away from and she couldn't expect it to be pleased with its prey when it tried to escape. Her hand had wandered along her waist to find her mother's dagger, hilt just peeking out from under her cuirass. Well, it was as good an idea as any. She grasped it and pulled it forth, the sound of the blade unsheathing music to her ears, and slammed it hilt-deep into the eye socket of her captor. It gave a cry so terrible she felt blood trickle from her ears, but it fell and she untangled herself from its bladed arms, drawing the dagger out with her. She approached the dragon and the Hurlocks did not take any notice, too enraptured by the amethyst dragon before them. Ibby glanced for a moment at her sister and mother; Ilse watched her, eyes wide and filled with tears, trembling. She tried to convey comfort through her gaze as she moved to obey Nephthys. She could not go to her sister just yet.

"_**Clean your blade."**_

She scraped the darkspawn blood and flesh away with the leather of one gauntlet, leaving it only speckled with the remnants of its first kill. Nephthys hummed appreciatively, clearly pleased.

"_**Are you ready?"**_

Ibby nodded, resolute, determined. Nothing would turn her from this path now. She had nowhere else to go.

"_**Prepare yourself."**_

The dragon lifted one great clawed foot, toes splayed apart, and brought it slamming down to the ground, cracks weaving about the rock beneath them like spider webs woven in the darkness. The dragon lifted her gaze heavenward, looking for the sky she could not see here beneath the earth. If ever a dragon appeared mournful, Ibby thought, then surely this is it. She couldn't prepare herself for the display of ferocity that came just after such mourning.

The dragon opened its mouth once more, letting out a tremendous roar, nothing compared to the enraged howls she had thrown at the darkspawn moments before. This roar shook the earth so that the cracks in the floor widened, and Ibby's very bones felt assaulted by the pure force of the sound. She would have clapped her hands to her ears had her will not abandoned her. Lyrium rushed up through the spiderweb of cracks along the stone floor, the blue liquid pooling up to immerse Ibby's hands up to the wrist. Still the dragon roared, the full force of its power behind this great cry. Surely all of the dwarves in Orzammar heard this magnificent creature bringing the myths of Old Gods to life right before her very eyes!

She felt rather than heard the dragon's voice within her mind, the presence entering her thoughts to show her what she was to do. Purpose flooded her. Without hesitation or a wayward thought, she plunged her mother's dagger between her breasts, blood freely gushing from the wound. She nearly cried out, the pain excruciating, but her voice was robbed away. As soon as blood began to spill forth, it raised up, unmindful of gravity. Ibby watched, entranced, as it flowed through the air, Lyrium rising to meet it. The two wove together, and she saw the blood flowing from the dragon's many cuts doing the same, curving a serpentine line in the air to join the two dancing lines of gravity-defiant liquid. The Lyrium glowed brighter and brighter and Ibby wanted to cover her eyes. Instead, she pulled the dagger from her chest, gasping as the blade left her flesh, the blood pouring more freely. She was surprised she did not feel dizzy in the slightest as the blood left her in a river of crimson.

Nephthys held the roar, and Ibby realized then that she was not simply seeing a miracle; this was the magic Nephthys had spoken of. _Blood _magic.

"Ibby!" A desperate scream reached her through Nephthys' magic, and she turned to see Amalia standing with Zevran, both of their eyes the picture of horror. Ilse crouched in fear at the feet of the Fereldan queen, clinging to her like a desperate child. The Hurlocks, finally free of their trance, raced towards the exit of the cave, completely ignored by Ibby's three companions grouped at the door.

With a sudden and irrational burst of joviality, she grinned wide enough to feel her chapped lip split and turned back toward Nephthys. The Lyrium glowed brighter still, spinning, weaving patterns with her blood, until finally they conjoined, rushing together like two great rivers. It stilled then, now one object hovering in the air, a liquid gem, dyed black. Nephthys ceased her tumult, panting heavily.

"_**This is it. From this, 'we' are no more."**_

"I will never be alone again." The realization was astounding. Ibby reached out then, placing a single finger upon the black gem, dripping with her own blood.

"_**Now."**_

That was all Nephthys said before the gem exploded in a great and blinding conflagration of light. Ibby was blinded, but waited, expecting her vision to clear. It did not.

It seemed an eternity before her mind returned to her and she realized that she was floating in a trance-like state through an endless white void.

"Nephthys?" She whispered it, unsure, wanting to hear the dragon rather than waiting in the white… nothingness.

"_**I am here." **_And Ibby had never known words to be truer; she suddenly felt the dragon's presence woven with hers, her very mind now shared with her. Foreign tongues and knowledge assailed her thoughts. Ibby felt her essence being pulled away. But she was unafraid. For once in her life, she felt completely at peace. There was no pain, no burdens, only the suddenly familiar presence of the dragon within her mind, their melding essences being brought together like their blood and the Lyrium.

"Where am I, Nephthys?" This was a question asked in idle curiosity. She noted with detached interest that she should be worried about her family or Amalia or even Zevran, but alas, the emotions were far off echoes of what they should have been and she could not summon them to full potency.

"_**Your mind has retreated and your body is resting. The stress of the ritual is much to bear and your body could not bear it while conscious."**_

"So… it is like the Fade, then? I'm not dead?"

"_**In a sense, it is like the Fade, but no, you are not dead. This is a deeper part of you, of your consciousness. Here is where you find your peace and rest. And you need much of both, my elven companion."**_

"How grave are my injuries? In the… real world, I mean."

"_**What injuries? Did I not tell you the ritual would heal us both? We are renewed, our beings unblemished by wounds and their ilk."**_

"That is reassuring."

A deep chuckle, more human than Ibby might have expected. But this was not the true voice of the dragon; she heard it more within her mind than in the actual air about her. It would make sense. The dragon must communicate by some sort of telepathy. Ibby tried to remember that to add to her list of powers she was learning Nephthys possessed.

"How are you, Nephthys? Have they bothered you?"

"_**No. Your companions are skilled in denial; they pretend I am not here."**_

"They don't attack you?"

"_**Attacking a newly rejuvenated dragon is not a wise course of action, by any means. Not only that, but I have given them no reason to attack me. I have been nothing but civil, sitting just inside the Deep Roads and smashing stray darkspawn like the troublesome insects they are."**_

Ibby thought that might have also given them more reason to be sociable; a dragon guarding the only entrance for the Darkspawn to pour through, especially so soon after a raid of a large horde, certainly made it easier to sleep at night.

"How is my family? And my companions?"

"_**They are well, though your mother frets like a small bird and your sister remains on the verge of tears every hour of the day. The human woman…" **_She felt a gentle probe into her memory until is receded, satisfied. _**"Amalia… she has been calm throughout this entire process, though obviously worried. The elf with the markings, Zevran, is it? He is quiet. He finds this all very… intriguing."**_

Ibby heaved a great sigh.

"Any idea when I will wake?"

"_**Whenever you wish. I can lend you my strength to you. However, the process is much more… smooth when unaided."**_

"How long have I been in this state?"

"_**Hmm… By my estimate… Five days."**_

"Is the melding almost done now?"

She could feel the bond expanded, their minds no longer separate, joining into one being, the Dragon testing the strength of their still-new bond.

"_**It is,"**_ she said after a moment of investigation.

"Then wake me. I must attend to whatever awaits me in the conscious world."

Nephthys hesitated, then acquiesced, respecting the elf's wish to get her duty done with.

Ibby felt a strength flooding her limbs and she nearly writhed with the sudden energy, coursing through her veins like liquid fire. Hands restrained her as she unintentionally thrashed, and then suddenly she was opening her eyes to the real world.

A set of watery blue eyes waited only inches from her own, searching her for any sign of consciousness. Ibby's throat felt gritty, as if she had been swallowing sand. Gasping, she fumbled for water, still unaware of her surroundings, only wanting to be rid of this thirst. A flask was thrust into her outstretched hand and she gulped the contents down, much of it making its way along her jaw line and onto the threadbare cloth that she wore. She gasped for air after she had drained it.

Amalia took the empty flask and handed it to a servant standing nearby. "More water, please." She spoke for Ibby.

She smiled at her human friend, the strength ebbing away.

"Hey," she croaked weakly, throat still as dry as the desert. "How's it shaping?"

"Ibby!" Her mother cried out suddenly, throwing her arms about her daughter's neck. Ibby squawked, nearly choked, not knowing how her frail looking mother possessed such strength. Ilse waited a short distance behind, eyes filled with tears, trembling.

"Ibby…" she gasped, uncomprehending. "I… I thought you were dead. I thought we… we were all dead." Tears finally spilled forth, and Ibby's mother released her so she could embrace her sister.

"Now Sister, how many times have I told you not to worry? A horde of darkspawn is no match against yours truly!" Ilse laughed weakly, patting her sister's back. When she pulled away, Ibby flopped back to the pillows.

"I imagine you all have your questions. So… I'll answer to the best of my abilities."

No one spoke. Tense silence filled the room. Ibby sighed, taking a moment to observe the room where she was kept. It was Amalia's room, in the Club and Staff. She was surprised; it seemed her human friend had been deeply worried. Either that or it had been the only good place available, either way, she was grateful. For the first time, she noticed Zevran waiting in the shadows, regarding her, curiosity apparent in his warm honey-colored gaze. She deciding to ignore him for the moment, sighing once more at the silence.

"Well, don't everybody ask at once…"

Amalia's face was tight with concern. "Ibby… I believe we are afraid of the answers we might receive. I have a great many questions to ask myself, but I suspect I may already know some of the answers."

Ibby sighed, already knowing where this was going. The human chantry and its strict aversion to blood magic…

"Well, to spare you from having to ask questions, I'll just start from the beginning."

The servant returned with a flask of water, waiting patiently for more orders, but Amalia dismissed her. No need for senseless gossip spreading about. Ibby sipped for a moment, more civilized now, and then launched into her story.

She told them the story, excluding the parts about the white void that she was in just moments ago and other select things that Nephthys didn't see fit to mention; like, for example, the great detail of what it felt like to stab oneself in the chest. When she had finished, Amalia looked hard into her eyes.

"So… you used blood magic? To save your own life?"

Ibby looked at her, steel in her spine. "No. I used the only means available to save my family. Surely you would do anything to save those you love, even if it meant partaking blood magic." Amalia flinched and Ibby suspected her words had struck a sensitive chord. Zevran took note of this as well; he had made no comment throughout the entire tale, and his rapt attention made her uneasy. Without his normal confident and playful demeanor, she felt as if she were dealing with a whole different person. She ignored him for the moment, though.

"Either way, what is done is done. Nephthys and I are joined. The darkspawn horde is temporarily pushed back and we are in no immediate danger."

Amalia shook her head. "The Chantry will not appreciate this. Blood magic is forbidden. They might even launch a march against the both of you."

Ibby tilted her head. "Has the Chantry been informed of this pact already?"

Amalia shook her head. "No. But…"

"Would you tell them?"

Amalia looked away, flushed, and hesitated before answering. "No. I would not tell them."

"And would anyone else in this room?"

Silence.

"Then as long as you remain silent as to the nature of our… pact, then we can avoid angering the Chantry."

Amalia nodded after a pause. "Yes. That seems the best option. It wasn't like you had much of a choice, after all." Ibby smiled, glad for Amalia's resolution to help her. Though she suspected the woman still mulled over it, whatever chord she had struck earlier had turned her friend around. She made a mental note of it, perhaps for some later pondering.

"However, we have more to discuss. It has not escaped my notice that you are not welcome here in Orzammar. Though this may change in time, I fear that being elves, you are subject to more… scrutiny than normal surfacers. So… I have a proposal."

Ibby waited expectantly. Nephthys listened as well, curious, though she suspected she knew what was coming.

"My good elf…" Amalia began, turning to address Ibby's mother. "I would like to ask you to come with me to Denerim. You craft beautiful sculptures and would be welcome among the palace craftmasters, perhaps even with a formal position. You could teach others her arts, if you so choose, and your presence there would be a sign of goodwill to the elves of the alienage. They would feel free to pedal their wares where ever they pleased."

Ibby smiled at the look of utter shock on her mother's face. "My… my Lady! Your majesty! Why, such a generous offer… I-I would be foolish, outright stupid to refuse!"

Ilse patted her mother's shoulder with a smile.

"And what of Ilse?" Ibby indicated her sister with a gesture.

"Mother will need help," Ilse said. "I have had an interest in this craft for some time and could take up the trade myself. Perhaps even innovate it, make something more of it… There would certainly be ample material about and I am sure the palace has an extensive library. If I was allowed to use it, of course."

Amalia beamed at the young elven woman. "Of course."

Ibby wasn't sure she wished to inquire of her own fate; she wasn't sure what she wanted. She did know that in joining with a dragon, she had been forever changed. Her life was not her own and she was acutely aware of it. She could feel Nephthys' desire to simply fly free for a few months, to escape everything and be alone. After so long cooped underground, avoiding humans, she longed to stretch her wings in flight once more, in space beyond the Dead Trenches.

Zevran inquired for her, however, sauntering behind the Queen, expressionless, though his voice was the same flirtatious purr. "And what will become of our dearest Ibby? You were training her, after all. Is she a venture to be abandoned? Shall she take up life in the wilds with her dragon friend?"

Nephthys decided she did not like this elf.

Amalia turned her gaze upon Ibby, obviously saving her for last.

"Originally, I had intended to ask if you wished to join the Grey Wardens."

Nephthys' response was instant and delivered with such finality that Ibby could not find the will to argue.

"_**No. We did not flee to taint to submit ourselves to it for some perceived greater good."**_

Ibby looked at Amalia. "Nephthys says no." She decided not to insult the Grey Warden's cause by repeating the rest.

"Well, as I said, that was 'originally'. Now, I am not entirely sure. There are many uses for you, surely."

Nephthys reached into the Queen's mind to speak her protest a bit more personally.

"_**Do not speak of her as if she is a tool, human. You may be queen, but your throne is nothing to a dragon, nor those one would claim as kin."**_

Amalia bowed her head apologetically, diplomatic to the utmost, even with a dragon invading her thoughts.

"Of course. I meant no offense, great one."

The others looked briefly confused before Ibby flashed them a grin. "Dragon stuff," she said easily. She had a feeling she would be using this phrase quite often…

"I… How would you like to come to Denerim with us? See what life is like there, at least? Then we can better discuss the future with my husband present." Amalia smiled and Ibby felt the urge to readily agree. She wasn't eager to leave her newfound friend.

"And… perhaps get in some more training?" Ibby added in, grinning when Nephthys made no objections to her implied acceptance. Amalia's eyes brightened. She clapped her elven friend on the shoulder.

"I could think of nothing better."


End file.
